


Use Somebody

by SapphoIsBurning



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Blindfolds, Bruises, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Royal rumble spoilers, Smut, post-Royal Rumble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 03:49:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5812684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphoIsBurning/pseuds/SapphoIsBurning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Royal Rumble, Dean shows up at Roman's house to comfort him. They've both been used. Roman's also feeling used up. Dean tries to be useful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Use Somebody

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by Vince's creepy promos in the weeks leading up to the Royal Rumble 2016, which led me to write a bunch of pre-emptive hurt/comfort that mostly avoided being jossed by the actual result. 
> 
> Hope this helps, friends. <3

Dean took a cab from the arena out into the suburbs. He knocked at Roman’s door and hit the doorbell a few times for good measure. Roman answered, looking haggard.

“Goddamn. You look like you need to be fucked.”

Roman gulped. “How are you even walking?”

Dean shrugged, stepping through the door. He shut it behind him, and they collapsed against each other.

“I didn’t really see it happen. I’m sorry,” Dean said.

“It’s better that way. He threw me over the ropes, Dean. Hunter! Hunter fucking threw me out with my whole family watching. Vince promised to use me, god, it’s so creepy. And the thing is, he can do it. You know I can’t get out of my contract except by breaking my goddamn neck, and then he wins too.”

“Easy, easy....not like I had an easy night either.”

“You’ve still got your title," Roman grimaced.

“We both got our asses handed to us by Team Old Man in the end.” Dean rubbed Roman's back and the back of his neck and stroked his hair. “Got anything to drink around here?”

“I just don’t want to think anymore tonight. I want to forget who I am.”

Dean held him for a beat and then they walked into the kitchen.

“A drink will help with that. Here.” Dean poured two glasses of bourbon from a bottle on the counter and handed one to Roman. He downed it.

“Dude. That is Pappy Van Winkle. What is wrong with you.”

“I get hit in the head for a living,” Roman shrugged. “Will you fuck me now?”

“Christ. You got a big goddamn mouth.”

“Shove something in it.”

“You’re not going to die of old age before I get an erection from your sexy demands to be filled at all ends.” Dean grabbed Roman by the arm and pushed him towards the stairs up to the bedroom. Dean kicked off his shoes. Roman didn’t have any on to start with.

Dean threw Roman down on the bed, and Roman rolled with it, landing on the bed with a huff, letting the air be knocked out of him.

“You know what your problem is, Reigns? You don’t have any fucking respect. You think you’re smart, you think you’re fucking special. Let me tell you exactly how special you are.” Dean unzipped his own jeans, pulled them down, and whipped his cock out, pumping it with his hand then letting it stand between them. “You’re special enough that I’ll let you suck this. I’m going to fuck your mouth right now. You want that?”

Roman nodded, dry-mouthed and trying to focus on the moment.

Dean crawled forward on the bed and grabbed Roman by the hair, pulling him forward. “Open up.” Roman opened his mouth passively and Dean shoved in, thrusting in, hitting the back of his throat. Roman gagged and his eyes watered but at least he was distracted from the biggest loss of his life, even bigger than losing to Sheamus at Survivor Series. That was nothing, in retrospect. Tonight he had lost to the president of the fucking hair club for men, practically the AARP of wrestlers who won’t let their time in the spotlight be over, who won’t let anyone new have anything good, have anything worth having—

Dean yanked on his hair. It hurt. Pain kept him in the present. Pain is a teacher, someone told him once. Dean taught him new things all the time.

Dean thrust in and out and Roman tried to suck, to cover his teeth with his lips and work up some spit and make this good. But it didn’t have to be good. It just had to be.

Dean pulled back, withdrew, threads of saliva stretching from Roman’s lips to his cock.

“Now’s probably too late to ask how your jaw is, isn’t it,” Dean frowned.

“It’s fine. Ribs are...probably cracked... I’m sure I’m lots of pretty colors under this t-shirt.”

“Makes two of us.”

Roman grabbed at Dean’s hips, trying to pull him back so he could go back to work annihilating his cock, or whatever it was he was doing. Maybe annihilating himself? Dick sucking wasn’t a very fast way of doing that, but it could work in the long run.

Dean put his hand on Roman’s forehead to hold him back. “Not that I really want to turn down a blowjob right now, but why is it okay for me to use you but not for Vince and Steph? For Hunter?”

“I like you. You can have anything you want from me.”

“You never gave me a title shot against you,” Dean countered.

“I didn’t know you wanted that. Too late now, anyway,” Roman grimaced.

Dean let go of Roman’s head and he resumed sucking Dean off, though Dean cooled off on his face-fucking. He threaded his fingers through Roman’s hair, feeling his jaw muscles working under the skin of his face.

“We’re performers—gladiators. We fight for blood money and fucking shiny weird belts,” Dean said, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. “Oh god, you’re so good. Ro, you can use me for anything. Just forget about all of that bullshit out there.”

Roman hummed into Dean’s cock, closing his eyes too, reaching around to grope Dean’s ass and run his hands over every part of him he could reach.

“We’re always getting used one way or another. But Roman. No one’s ever going to use you up. You got a big heart, there’s always more to go around, no matter what. You love people and don’t let them go, even a dirtbag like me, oh, Ro. God. You’re wrestling royalty and you got no reason to hang around me, even if I am kinda good at my job. But you do.”

Dean got lost in what he was saying and had to stop, feeling like he wasn’t getting enough air and was falling through a giant hole, never going to hit the ground. Roman felt lost too but he chased the rabbit of Dean’s words, feeling distant from himself, like he was watching it all happen in the third person. It was a nice feeling, for once.

Dean felt the warm wetness of Roman’s mouth, flicking and pulling an orgasm out of him like it was unwillingly given. He came hard against the back of Roman’s throat and felt him swallow once, twice, three times around him until he stopped shuddering and Roman let him go.

Dean fell backwards, almost rolling off the bed, and Roman slumped against the headboard.

“Why do you always do this for me, Dean?” Roman asked, finally, breaking the silence.

“Do what, get a blowjob? I like blowjobs. You can give me a blowjob any time you want.”

“You fucking know what I mean. I come out feeling like a sad sack who can’t catch a break and you’re always there to cheer my ass up.”

“Or cheer your _ass_ up,” Dean snarked.

“...yeah, that too. But why?”

“Because that’s what friends are for?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not what friends are for, Dean. Friends are for getting you drunk and, like, listening to your bullshit.”

“I do that too,” Dean huffed.

“You’re deflecting. Why do you do this for me?”

“Because that’s what lovers are for?” Dean sat up and looked Roman in the eye. “I don’t fucking know, Roman, you’re beautiful and sad and when I see you I turn into a goddamn teenager with a crush? Should I stop comforting you? Who would that help? Take your shirt off and let me look at the bruising. If we’re not going to fuck anymore I might as well be useful.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

Roman stripped his t-shirt off. Dean sucked a breath in through his teeth. There were clear outlines of where Roman had hit the ropes and slid and some fist shaped marks from some assholes who were feeling like working stiff that night. Some assholes; not a real mystery who that was. They had to be pretty bad to show up this much against Roman’s skin tone. Then again, they had taken him out on a stretcher.

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m getting that gel stuff and you’re going to fucking sit still while I put it on.”

“It doesn’t do anything.”

“Yes it does,” Dean shouted over his shoulder as he limped off to the bathroom to rifle through the cabinet.

Roman got up and followed him. When he reached the bathroom, Dean had a drawer open and was digging through it. He kept pulling out bottles, squinting at them, and then lining them up on the counter.

“Cranberry pills. Hair mustard. These better be actual bath salts and not ‘bath salts’.”

Roman snatched a sachet away. “Those are Lush bath bombs. Please don’t touch them. The gel is in the other drawer anyway.”

“Beard balm? Really?” Dean pulled the cap off something that looked like a stick of deodorant and smelled it. “Hmm. Might have to steal this.”

“Would you stop?” He elbowed Dean away, swept things back into the drawer, then opened up another one. He pulled out a tube of arnica gel and shoved it at Dean, then slammed the drawer.

“Jesus, Princess, I’m trying to fucking help you. I thought you wanted to be distracted.”

Roman tossed his hair and sat down on the closed toilet lid. “Fine. Then help me. Here.” He stuck out his left arm, covered in welts.

Dean took it in his hands and rotated it slightly, checking out the bruising on the elbow. “Damn.” He squeezed a generous amount of the gel into his palm and began to massage it into the skin. Roman moaned softly in his chest, whimpering when Dean went over the worst part of the bruise.

“Shh, I got you,” Dean murmurred, moving up his shoulder and to his back. Roman turned, facing the wall, so Dean could reach.

He put more gel in his hand and went to work on the welts from hitting the mat and the turnbuckle and the ropes and the announce table and, finally, the floor. He felt the scars there too, not so visible to the naked eye but still raised and tactile, telling a story something like braille, only readable to those with fingers trained for it. He inhaled through his nose, getting some of the herbal smell of the arnica and some of the salt of Roman’s sweat, in his hair and on his body.

“See, Ro, you like this,” Dean said. “You don’t like to like this. But you like it.” Roman just groaned his assent.

He rubbed the gel into the back of Roman’s neck for good measure, and then did his right arm. He got all the way down to the elbow and kept going, rubbing it into his forearm and down into his hand. He pulled Roman’s right arm up over his head and massaged his right hand, working from the wrist up to the palm and down each of the fingers.

Roman was limp and pliant in Dean’s hands. “Oh god, do you even know how good that feels?”

“I have no fucking idea. Never had anybody to rub cream on me when I got a boo-boo.”

“Don’t be that way, D. You disappear as soon as you get hurt. You want me to fire up the Mystery Machine to hunt you down after you take a bump?”

“Hah. Does that make you Shaggy or Scooby?”

“Realistically, I’m probably Fred. You’re Shaggy.”

“Nope. You’re Daphne and I’m Velma. You got the long flowing hair and I got the brains.”

“Oh really.”

“Yep. Brains of this whole operation. Don’t you laugh, you know it. I keep this place running.”

“Do you, now.”

“Yep.”

“I know some people who would be surprised to hear that.”

“I’m full of fucking surprises,” Dean said, putting the cap back on the gel. He sidled over to the drawers and opened one at random. Roman swung around where he was sitting to see Dean pull out a bullet-shaped bottle.

“That is not for bruises!” said Roman.

“Gun Oil? Stockpiling a lot of ammo in the bathroom, Reigns?” Dean laughed as he read the back of the bottle. “...oh.”

“That’s for sex.”

“I got that, thanks,” Dean said, shaking his head.

“There are condoms in there too,” Roman added, raising one eyebrow.

“That’s actually what I was looking for. And don’t fucking practice the People’s Eyebrow on me right now. This is serious.”

“Obviously. I mean, I haven’t even come yet, and have I complained?”

“Only about losing the title and how much you hate Hunter and Vince and how bad your skid marks hurt.”

“Right.” Roman planted his hands on his knees and stood up, wincing.

“Yeah. Looks like a reverse cowboy kind of night. Am I right? No? Yes?”

Roman just looked at him like he had grown two heads.

Dean laughed. “Go lay down on the bed. I’m going to take care of you.” Roman grimaced, not wanting to leave Dean to do any more damage to his health and beauty stash, but he did as he was told.

Roman walked back into the bedroom and stretched out on top of the bed, not bothering to turn the lights on. He grabbed a pillow and clutched it to his chest, turning his head to face the bathroom door. Dean came in clutching an armful of things that Roman couldn’t quite make out. He dumped them on the dresser.

“I’ve got plans, Rome. Big plans.” Dean narrowed his eyes. He picked up a bandanna from the dresser. “Close your eyes.”

Roman had had enough struggle for the night. It was nice to relax into someone else’s hands, someone he knew would never hurt him, or at least, would telegraph it from a mile away if he ever had to. So he closed his eyes, and Dean covered them with the bandanna and tied it behind his head, a quick blindfold.

“Take the rest of your clothes off, and throw them off the bed. Then lay down.” Dean’s voice sounded farther away.

“Where are you going?” Roman asked. “Don’t go.”

“You’re just going to have to trust that I’m here.”

Roman stripped and lay back, his head on a pillow. He heard some rustling, a click, and an electrical whine. Then the old CD player on the dresser sprang to life. “Take me now, baby, here as I am,” someone sang. Some cover of a song he remembered from a long time ago, from long car rides and the radio. His pulse thrummed. He still didn’t know exactly where Dean was.

He tried to relax and be in the moment. He didn’t have to be a star or a winner or a loser here. He was home, and he was with someone who...loved him? Someone who spoke roughly but had a gentle touch when it was called for.

He felt movement to his right. He reached out, catching a warm glancing caress of Dean’s thigh before he moved out of reach. He withdrew his hand, rubbing up and down his own leg to quell a surge of goose bumps. He shivered. All he could hear was the music.

Then, all at once, he felt Dean’s weight sink into the mattress at his feet and crawl up toward him, and a rough hand stroke his cock, a rough but slick hand. He heard a rustling noise, and then felt a condom being rolled down on top of him. Dean gave him three or four rough, hard strokes, then withdrew. “Oh, god, don’t stop, I need you, Dean. I don’t know where I am.”

“You’re here. I’m here. You can have me.” And then Roman felt Dean moving above him, planting his knees on both sides of Roman’s hips, and felt him hovering over his cock. “Ready?” Dean asked.

“Always,” Roman exhaled.

Roman reached down with one hand to steady the base of his cock, and then Dean sank down hard, all in one movement. Dean pressed his hands into Roman’s chest, leaning forward over him, bracing himself there as well as on his knees. The blindfold kept Roman from seeing anything. All he could do was read Dean’s body with his body. And he was really good at doing that.

They fell into rhythm together, Dean in control, fucking himself on Roman’s thick cock. Roman got his hands around Dean’s waist to steady him. Dean caressed his face and leaned down to kiss his chest and neck, working his right nipple with his teeth but stopped himself from bending so far forward that they broke their connection.

Roman heard the sound of skin rubbing on skin that meant Dean was stroking himself. “Roman,” Dean moaned. He sped up his pace, nearly bouncing on the bed, their bodies coming together and falling into the mattress, the springs working with their force to send them back into each other. It was a little tough on his ribs, but it was worth it.

“Gah!” Dean yelled, and Roman felt a spurt of wetness hit his chest without warning, hot and sticky. Then he felt Dean card his fingers through it, rubbing it in. It was that that sent him over the edge, being dirty and sticky and helpless before someone who could hurt him, who could actually kill him if he wasn’t careful, but who he trusted with his life. With his damn cock and balls. He trusted him a lot. Roman made incoherent noises as Dean brought him closer and closer to the edge, and then over it, shushing him and petting him all over and telling him it’s all going to be all right.

Roman’s vision went starry as it did sometimes when he came, and he relaxed against the bed. He felt the mattress bounce as Dean got up. He heard water running. Dean ran a wet washcloth over his chest and divested him of the used condom.

He reached up to take his blindfold off. Dean had turned the lights on and Roman could see just that clearly that Dean was in rough shape too. His eyes had dark circles under them; his shoulder was taped up and he had a lot of bruises coming in. “Dean. You’re a fucking mess.”

“What else is new?”

“Let me do something.”

“Okay. Order a pizza.”

“...that’s what you want?”

“Extra cheese and pepperoni.”

“No sausage?” Roman grinned a little, gently working his jaw.

“I think I’ve had enough for tonight.”

Roman rolled off the bed, grabbing a not-too-dirty t-shirt and pair of pajama pants off the floor and pulling them on. He padded out to grab his phone and placed an order for delivery. When he returned to the bedroom, he saw Dean curled in the fetal position on the bed and he saw more clearly the imprint of a steel chair outlined on his back. Fuck. No wonder he made him wear a blindfold.

It stopped Roman in his tracks. Here he was, being fussed over, fucked gently, cared for by someone who fought twice as many matches as he did this evening, who _also_ lost the Royal Rumble. He went back to the bathroom and grabbed the bruise gel.

“Dean. Sit up.”

“Wha?” Dean stirred, rolling toward him.

“Lay on your stomach.”

“I can’t do it again yet,” Dean mumbled.

“No, I’m done with that too. Let me do your back. I just...don’t want to be useless.”

“Roman. You’re always good for something,” Dean laughed as he rolled over, two lovers caring for each other and forgetting everything but the sweet sting of the moment.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the Kings of Leon song, but the song Dean puts on is ["Because the Night" as covered by Garbage and Screaming Females](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tOmKGjy-Ct0%22) which is my jam. I may have titled another fic I posted today after it...
> 
> Thanks for reading, and thanks to my lovely spouse (who's not on Ao3) for beta-reading this.


End file.
